


Till the Morning Comes

by Gemmiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Shower Sex, heaven can't wait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 11:37:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmiel/pseuds/Gemmiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is damn well not going to let Cas sleep on a storage room floor for another night. Companion piece to my story "Because the Night"-- the same story (slightly expanded) and dialogue from another POV. Fix-it fic with a missing scene from "Heaven Can't Wait." Spoilers for that episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till the Morning Comes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Because the Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043293) by [Gemmiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmiel/pseuds/Gemmiel). 



> Yeah, I know, doing a remix of my own story is kind of weird. But when I finished "Because the Night," I felt like I really needed to know what was going on in Dean's head. So I wrote this. Same story, different POV.

The problem with ex-angels, Dean Winchester thinks, is that they’re so fucking _stubborn._

Case in point: Castiel, former angel of the Lord and current sales associate for Gas-N-Sip, who is currently seated across the table from him, chowing down on a burger with a carnivorous enthusiasm that shows plainly the guy’s been living off potato chips and slushies for the past few weeks. And why? 

Because he’s too damn hardheaded to use the credit cards Dean gave him, that’s why.

Dean is trying not to show it, but he's seriously pissed about the whole situation. The thought of Cas sleeping in a storage room makes him beyond furious. A few weeks ago, he'd rescued Cas and got him back to the bunker. He had Cas safe and warm and protected. And then Zeke, the angel who is currently inhabiting his younger brother's overgrown body, had to fuck up everything and insist that Cas leave.

So Dean did what he had to do. He’d kicked Cas out, despite the whipped puppydog look in his eyes, because what choice did he have? Zeke had made it clear that if he didn’t make Cas leave, then he’d leave, and then Sammy would be lying there dead on the floor. Zeke kind of had him by the short ‘n’ curlies, damn it.

But even though he’d sent Cas away, his friend hadn't been empty-handed. He’d made sure the guy had a duffel full of clothes (Dean’s own, because they fit him better than Gargantua’s oversized duds), credit cards (all stolen, naturally) and the usual necessities of hunting life, like salt and holy water, not to mention a gun and a decent blade. He’d made sure Cas was well taken care of, because that’s what he _does,_ damn it. He looks after his family.

So it really pisses him off now to hear Cas talk about throwing out that bag so casually.

“You threw _me_ out,” Cas is pointing out now, in a voice of icy reason.

Okay. Well. When Cas puts it that way, he can sorta see why the ex-angel is irritated with him. He hadn’t dared explain things to Cas—because despite all his good qualities, Cas is a social moron and tends to blurt crap out when he shouldn’t, and he couldn’t take a chance on Cas letting anything slip to Sammy—so from Cas’ perspective, naturally it looks like Dean had just been…

Well, an asshole.

“Yeah,” he says roughly. “About that. I kind of—well, I didn’t want to, Cas. I just…”

That faltering explanation peters out into nothingness, because what exactly is he going to say? _There’s an angel in Sammy who insisted I get rid of you or he’d kill my brother?_ That’s just gonna get Cas riled up, maybe make him come home to the bunker and start raising a fuss… and then Sam’ll be dead. He can’t tell Cas. He just doesn’t dare. All he can say is _I’m sorry,_ and honestly, that’s not gonna come across as real sincere, now, is it?

Cas is looking at him like some teachers looked at him in high school—like he was a shitload of trouble and they couldn’t quite understand why he was even sitting there, wasting their goddamn time. “Forget it,” Cas says at last, his tone lofty and cool. “I didn’t want your money, and I don’t need you to take care of me. I’m fine.”

And that’s a total lie, obviously. Anyone can see Cas isn’t fine. He’s a warrior, an angel, a formerly immortal and flawless being, and he’s working in a fucking convenience store. Talk about your downward mobility. And besides that…

“You’re sleeping in a _storage room,_ Cas.”

Cas draws himself up very straight, and his features go very cold, and Dean is suddenly reminded of an angel he once knew, who could’ve smote him with the brush of two fingers any time he felt like it. 

“I have a sleeping bag,” he says.

Dean can’t stop himself from smiling at the absurdity of that. An angel, who used to spend all his time in the perfection Heaven, sleeping on a concrete floor in a storage room. But hey, it’s nothing to get upset about, because he’s got a fucking _sleeping bag!_

“A sleeping bag,” he snarks. “Well. That’s _okay,_ then.”

Cas looks at him in a way that says plainly he’d smite the hell out of him if he could. “Bite me.”

Dean can’t hold back his affectionate laughter. God, Cas is just so… _Cas._ Proud and determined and doing things the way he fucking well wants to, even if it all leads to disaster in the end (and it usually does). He should’ve known Cas would be a pain in the ass about letting the Winchesters help him out. Cas isn’t the sort to ask for help from anyone. He's annoying as hell… but he's also damn amazing.

“You’re awesome, Cas,” he says, and means it. The blue eyes warm a little, and Cas seems to think better of trying to find a way to smite him. He picks up his burger again, and goes back to devouring it.

*****

They finish off their burgers and fries, and Dean talks Cas into dessert by claiming that he forgot to eat lunch and he’s starving. In fact he stopped at a diner on the way and had a really great slice of meatloaf and some mashed potatoes, but he wants to take this opportunity to get Cas a decent meal, so they both order dessert.

Cas likes his hot fudge sundae. He likes it a _lot._ He gobbles it down with an expression of sheer bliss and some happy moans that Dean can only (very uncomfortably) categorize as sex noises. He’s grateful the place is pretty much empty, because he’s sitting here with an ex-angel reenacting _When Harry Met Sally,_ and it makes him feel really, well…

After careful consideration, he decides there’s no good way to finish that sentence. He stands up the minute Cas is done, tossing bills on the table preemptively, so Cas can’t get any ideas about paying for his own food. The two of them head for the Impala and settle into her dark interior as Dean turns the key in the ignition. 

“I would appreciate it,” Cas says with careful formality (so damn reserved and dignified you’d never guess this was the same guy who was groaning orgasmically over a sundae five minutes ago), “if you’d drop me back by the convenience store.”

“Dude,” Dean says. “No. I’m not taking you back to the convenience store this time of night.”

Cas glares at him. “That is where I sleep.”

 _Like hell it is, feathers-for-brains._ “Not tonight, it isn’t. I’m gonna get a motel room, okay? You can come along.”

Cas looks at him like he’s suggested the two of them take off on a cross-country crime spree. “Just drop me off at the Gas-N-Sip,” he says again, like maybe Dean didn’t hear him the first time.

Dean thinks of his friend lying on a hard, cold floor, and his gut churns with anger. But he carefully keeps his tone light. “Nope. We’re going to check into a motel.”

“ _Damn_ it, Dean—"

Oh, listen to that. His little angel is all grown up and swearing like one of the big boys. He’s so proud. 

He's not sitting here and arguing about something so stupid, though. Instead he turns his head and gives Cas the patented Dean Winchester flash of teeth, the _I’m a bad boy but you know you like me that way_ grin. Women love it, but he’s pretty sure most guys aren’t immune to it either. Sure enough, Cas looks kind of flustered, like Dean put his hand on his thigh or something. 

Yeah, Dean thinks with satisfaction. He’s still got it.

“I’ll get you home in time for work tomorrow morning, don’t worry,” he promises, and he doesn’t really mean to, but something gets into his tone, something honey-smooth and sort of flirtatious. Oops. Once he turns on the sexy charm it can be hard to turn it off. Cas looks more flustered than before, and blinks at him a moment, then turns his head away to look out the window into the darkness. 

Dean grins to himself, and shifts the car into drive.

*****

Their room isn’t exactly a luxury suite, but Dean considers any motel that isn’t crawling with roaches to be a win. This one looks clean, if a little scruffy around the edges. Anyway, Cas has a nice double bed all to himself to sleep in, which sure beats the hell out of a sleeping bag on a cold, hard floor.

Damn it, he grouses to himself as Cas heads for the shower. Why is Cas so fucking stubborn? Would it kill the guy to let them help him out? It’s not like it’s their money anyway; hunting doesn’t pay shit, so their credit cards are all kind of, well, borrowed. But no, Cas has to do everything on his own. Goddamn angel.

The door closes, and he tries to focus on the television. Cas is taking off his clothes in there, but Dean isn’t thinking about that. Of course he’s not. But despite his best efforts, he's not thinking about the _Dr. Sexy_ rerun on the TV, either. He’s just sitting here fuming, because his best friend is a stiff-necked moron who won’t let him help out. 

He really needs to have another talk with Cas, damn it.

The water starts up, and despite himself, he imagines Cas in there, naked, slick with water and soap suds, the dark hair plastered against his head, dripping wet, and something twists inside him. It dawns on him that he can probably can make Cas see reason, with the right incentive. He is Dean freakin’ Winchester, after all. Women don’t say no to him, and he can’t see any reason why guys should, either. Especially guys who blush and get all fluttery when he grins at them.

Something else inside him is trying to hold him back, saying, _Dude, this is a really bad idea,_ but he smacks that voice down (because voices of reason piss him off) and switches off the TV. He strips himself quickly, not giving himself any time to think about what he’s doing, or the trouble it could lead to. He heads for the bathroom, stark naked.

It’s already as steamy as hell in the little room. Cas must like it hot. Dean shoves the shower curtain to one side, and sees Cas’ back turned toward him. Cas has a nice back, broad and muscular. A really nice back. Dean refuses to add mentally that he also has a nice ass, because that’s a seriously gay thought he doesn’t want to entertain, but… well, it’s an ass, no doubt about it, and it’s well-shaped and toned and sorta wiggles enticingly every time Cas moves. 

So, yeah, kind of a nice ass. 

Cas glances over his shoulder, his eyes wide with shock, and Dean decides to act like this is something perfectly normal that happens every day, like straight macho dudes get naked and shower together all the time, because otherwise he’s going to freak himself out. He steps into the tub and speaks gruffly.

“Move over, will ya?”

Cas moves over, but his eyes are still wide, and he’s looking at Dean nervously, like a spooked horse that’s thinking about rearing up and pawing at the sky just before it launches itself into a freaked-out gallop. Dean figures he better calm Cas down before the ex-angel bolts right out of the motel and runs down the street, dripping and bare-assed. He edges his way into the shower water—and damn, it is _really_ hot—and situates himself right behind Cas.

“Hand me the soap,” he says, like it’s a perfectly ordinary request, and Cas looks at him a minute longer, clearly trying to figure out what the hell’s going on here. But beneath the panicky look in his eyes there’s a hint of intrigued curiosity, like he’s not really all _that_ upset to find Dean naked in the shower with him.

Dean gets the soap nice and wet and works up a good lather, then starts scrubbing Cas. His first instinct is to go for the totally-not-calling-it-a-nice-ass, but he decides to aim at neutral territory first, and begins soaping up Cas’ shoulders instead. Cas is rigid beneath his hands, clearly anxious, and Dean lets his hands stroke over Cas very gently, trying to get him to relax.

“I figured you could use some help in here,” he says softly, inhaling the scent of the soap as it wafts upward from Cas’ body. It smells like Christmas trees, like lonely pine forests half buried in snow drifts, and it’s almost impossibly arousing. Damn. He never knew pine trees smelled like sex till now. “I guess you haven’t taken a lot of showers, if you’ve been living in a storage room.”

“No,” Cas says, and even for him the word is low and rough. It makes a chill go down Dean’s spine despite the hot water. Cas seems to notice, and remodulates his voice into a more normal pitch. “No, I haven’t.”

“Well,” Dean says, lathering soap all over his shoulders. “We better get you nice and clean, then. No telling when you might get another chance at a shower, if you’re gonna be stubborn and refuse to let us help you out.”

He leaves off _you hardheaded asshole,_ but he figures Cas can hear the irritation in his tone. Well, fuck him. If Cas likes sponging himself down in sinks and living off junk food, it’s not Dean’s fault, damn it. He did what he could, and if Cas is going to be a moron, that’s Cas’ problem.

He figures it can’t hurt to show Cas what he’s missing, though.

Cas is still stiff and motionless, doing his best impression of a mannequin, so Dean digs into his shoulders a little, giving him a good solid massage, nice and deep. He knows Cas got thrown around a little by Ephraim, and he’s probably a little sore. Cas is trying to keep himself stiff, Dean can tell, but slowly his muscles relax under Dean’s ministrations (magic fingers, Dean thinks to himself wryly; they’re the Winchester gift). Before long, Cas’ head droops forward, so that his forehead is pressing against the wall of the shower, and a tiny little sound escapes him.

 _That’s it,_ Dean thinks, rubbing harder. _See what you’re missing out on, being so damn stubborn? Wouldn’t you like a nice hot shower every night, idiot?_

He can see he’s starting to win the argument here, so he makes sure his hands are nice and well-lathered, and reaches around Cas, beginning to soap down his chest. Cas kind of jerks, and Dean realizes he brushed a hand across one of his nipples. Well, fuck. That was like completely accidental, and yet… well, the way Cas reacted was kind of… exciting.

He’s already hard as hell, and he suspects Cas is too, though he’s carefully refraining from looking. He lets his fingers brush Cas’ nipples again. They’re tightening up into little stiff peaks, and Dean lets his thumbs brush across them, over and over again, until Cas makes this pathetic little noise, sexier by far than any of the hot fudge sundae sounds he made.

Cas's wet, dark hair is standing up all over his head in spikes, and his slick skin glistens all over, little rivulets of water trailing down his body, and Dean can't help touching him. His hand moves across Cas’ abdomen, right to his cock. And oh, yeah, he’s just as hard as Dean is. Dean wraps his hand around him, and Cas makes a breathy noise, a helpless little _oh, oh, oh,_ and Dean leans into him, letting his own cock press against Cas’ ass. 

Jesus. He never realized how much he wanted this before. Maybe he just never _let_ himself realize. Castiel has always been kind of out of reach, like one of the stars in the sky, beautiful and bright, so brilliant you can't help looking at it, but burning so hot you can only admire it from a distance. But now Cas is just a human—well, more or less a human; he’s in a human vessel and he’s lost his grace and that makes him pretty much the same lowly species as any poor sap walking around on this planet. He’s human, and he reacts like a human, groaning and sighing as Dean strokes him slowly, his hips moving, shoving his cock into Dean’s hand like he’s begging for more.

God _damn._ Cas groaning and shivering at a simple hand job is the hottest thing Dean’s ever seen.

“That’s it,” Dean growls into his ear. “That's right, Cas. Let me take care of you.”

He means it in every way possible. He wants to make Cas happy, to make him beg and babble and sob for it, and to finally bring him to a wailing, gut-wrenching climax. But he also wants to see to it that Cas doesn’t sleep on the fucking floor any more, to make sure that Cas has a room he can go to at night and decent food to eat and a reasonable amount of clothes. 

Why _shouldn’t_ he take care of Cas? Cas has saved him over and over again, starting with the whole raising-him-from-perdition thing and going on from there. This isn’t charity, damn it, it’s just two friends looking out for one another. Why can’t Cas see that?

Cas is trembling now, jerking his hips hard, trying to force Dean into a faster pace, but Dean refuses to speed things up. He wants Cas to be a sobbing, sweating mess by the time he’s done with him. He keeps moving his hand, nice and slow, and Cas flattens his palms against the wall and moans out Dean’s name, sounding completely and totally wrecked already.

Ha. Dean has him now. Cas is totally at his mercy. Dean whispers in his ear, soft and low.

“I want you to promise me that you’ll let me give you some stuff. Clothes, money, ID. And that this time you'll _keep_ it, okay?”

Cas whips his head around, so hard his skull almost slams into Dean’s nose. Dean prudently draws back a few inches, far enough to see one blue eye glaring at him.

“I am not a prostitute,” Cas spits out.

Whoa. Where the hell did that come from? Dean’s just trying to get the guy to see reason. And yeah, he’s maybe sort of using his hands and his body to convince him, but it’s not like he’s offering Cas money in exchange for sex or anything.

Except now that he thinks about it, it did kind of sound that way. But hell, that wasn’t what he meant. Cas ought to know him better than that.

“’Course you’re not,” he says, keeping his voice low and soothing. “What the fuck, Cas? I’m just trying to help you out, same as I’d help Kevin or Sammy or Charlie or any other member of the family.”

“You… wouldn’t… do this… for… Kevin.”

Cas is obviously having trouble getting words out, and it does something to Dean’s insides. He’s making Cas quake and moan, just by touching him a little, and it’s the hottest fucking thing ever. 

“Not _this,_ ” he agrees, squeezing Cas a little harder, so that Cas jolts and makes a thick, suffocated grunt in the back of his throat. “But the money thing, yeah, of course I would. Quit fighting me on it, okay? We're family. Family take care of one another. I don’t like thinking about you sleeping on a concrete floor.”

He doesn’t just not like it. He _hates_ it. Cas needs to be somewhere warm and comfortable and decent, damn it. Somewhere safe.

 _Like in my bed._ The thought comes to Dean unbidden, sending a tremor through him.

“You are using… sex… to try to… control me.”

That accusation is so totally untrue, so completely unjust, that Dean is stung. He’s just being nice, damn it. Trying to offer a little comfort to a friend. The fact that he doesn’t usually comfort friends in quite this way is beside the point. He’s not being _manipulative_ or anything. 

Well, not much, anyway.

“This?” he says softly. “This isn’t sex. I’m just helping you get clean, buddy.”

He isn’t sure which of them he’s lying to. Maybe both. But God help him, he knows perfectly well this isn’t about getting clean. Cas is hot and throbbing, wet with precome, his cock twitching with every movement of Dean’s hand. Dean thinks about what he himself likes, and starts stroking his thumb over the very tip, very lightly. Cas seems to like that just fine, if his strangled cry is any indication. Dean increases the pressure there gradually, caressing harder, until the pad of his thumb is pressing into the slit there, while Cas’ cock weeps precome, jerking in his hand like a living thing.

Oh, fuck. Cas is so close, and Jesus, so is he. He’s rubbing up against Cas’ hip now, and he can feel the tension building up in his body. The shower is still pouring hot water over them both, and the fragrance of pine trees in winter fills the air. He can't tell where the scent of the soap ends and the scent of Cas' skin begins, and he breathes it all in hungrily.

He misses Cas, damn it. He'd been so happy to get his whole family back under one roof. But Cas isn't just family, he's... _Cas_. Dean had been looking forward to teaching Cas about being human, seeing him try cornflakes and broccoli and grilled steak for the first time, watching him learn to laugh at Bugs Bunny cartoons, instead of just staring at them gravely. He'd been looking forward to watching him and Sam take morning jogs together while Dean lounges in front of the television, watching the two of them gang up on Dean to try to make him eat better. He'd been looking forward to watching Cas fall asleep on the sofa in front of late-night TV, watching him stumbling around with bedhead in the mornings, finding out if Cas is grouchy or bright-eyed when he has to get up early...

He'd been looking forward to having Cas in his life all the time, not just fluttering in and out when he felt like it, and Zeke took all that away from him. He's grateful to Zeke for saving his brother, even if he isn't real confident about the angel's future plans for Sammy, but he resents the hell out of him for making him send Cas away. 

But tonight, Cas is here, _right here in his arms,_ warm and alive and full to the brim with the same complicated, messy human emotions that are stirring to life inside of Dean. He might not be able to keep Cas with him forever, but he can keep him till the morning comes, and maybe that'll be enough. It'll have to be enough.

He's kissing the nape of Cas' neck before he even realizes it. He's not really the cuddly type, but Cas smells so good, and Dean wants to kiss him _everywhere,_ damn it. But they're both too close to the edge for him to pull away, so he just puts his lips all over the back of Cas' neck, trying desperately to convey his feelings without words. Cas groans Dean's name again, hoarse and rough and hungry, and something inside Dean melts. Cas is his, and he wants to protect him, to hold him in his arms forever, but he _can't,_ and it's driving him crazy.

“Promise me,” he pleads softly. “I’m going to get you credit cards and shit, and this time you’re not gonna throw it all out.”

"Stop it." Cas sounds severely pissed. "Just _stop_ it."

The motion of Dean's hand falters, because he's not sure what Cas is telling him. He'll walk out of here if Cas insists, but damn, he really doesn't want to. Not at this point. "You really want me to stop?"

"Not _that,_ damn it." Cas speaks in a low, dangerous growl, like he's ready and willing to go back to smiting any minute now. "Quit talking, Dean. I think you would say... shut the fuck _up._ "

The desperation is clear in his voice, and Dean chuckles against his neck. Obediently, he shuts up, then tightens his fist around Cas, pumps harder, faster, and Cas surrenders totally to the onslaught, arching his head back against Dean's shoulder and crying out in near-ecstasy. Dean is clearly much, much better than a hot fudge sundae, and that gives him a little shot of blood to his ego (which, if he's gonna be honest, hardly needs the help). 

Dean 's hips are moving too, sliding his cock against Cas' hip, their bodies moving together in a perfectly choreographed dance, like they've done this a million times before. And yet it's like nothing he's ever felt. He doesn't let up on Cas, and Cas trembles and wails as he comes-- all over Dean's hand, all over the fucking wall-- and his reaction is so hot and real and purely sexual that Dean doesn't stand a goddamned chance. He grits his teeth to hold back his own cries of pleasure, but he hears himself grunting softly as his orgasm hits him like a speeding truck, so hard and fast he can't even draw a breath. All he can do is grind his teeth and let it crash over him.

Afterward Cas kind of sags against the wall, and Dean's pretty sure his friend would have collapsed right to the floor of the tub if Dean didn't hold him upright. There's a long silence, filled with nothing but the rush of water and the heavy sound of their breathing. At last they finish cleaning up, dry each other off, and fall into one of the beds together, wrapped around each other.

And if it's not the same as having Cas at the bunker, having his ex-angel around all the time, well, it's better than nothing. Dean shuts up about the credit cards and all that shit, because he's finally realized that this is it, this is all they've got, maybe all they'll ever have, and he doesn't want any more arguments between them. Cas is still pissed with him, and Dean doesn't blame him, but he doesn't want to take a chance that Cas might stalk out of here in an ex-angelic rage, so he keeps his damn mouth shut for once. He still wants to keep Cas safe, but more importantly, he wants Cas against him, warm and alive and _here,_ in Dean's arms.

In the morning he'll drop Cas off at that damn convenience store, let Cas go back to his new job, and he'll let Cas live his life the way he wants to, no matter how hard it is for him to accept. But he also knows he can't stay away, and that he'll be back here when he can, as often as he can. Having had a taste of what this is like, he's not about to walk away from Cas for good, Zeke or no Zeke.

He might not be able to have Cas at the bunker, but he'll take what he can get, even if it's just stolen moments like these, touches and kisses and soft whispers in the night. If it's all he can have, he'll take it.

But deep down, he knows it'll never be enough.


End file.
